


Mandrake or his love heals as much as it hurts (which is why i stay)

by andysmmrs



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, It's a very short character study I wrote while listening to sad Sam Smith songs on repeat, It's quick but I like it, M/M, also sad, description of illness but it's VERY not explicit, sorry bout that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andysmmrs/pseuds/andysmmrs
Summary: A short *emphasis on short* character study of Gibson and Hickey's relationship within the last few weeks of them both being alive. Check author's note for information about the title.
Relationships: William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Kudos: 9





	Mandrake or his love heals as much as it hurts (which is why i stay)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my ugly stinky twin (jk i love them)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+ugly+stinky+twin+%28jk+i+love+them%29).



When the melancholy had finally descended like a vulture upon Gibson, he couldn’t remember if he had always been so miserable, or if it had come with the bad luck the entire expedition had always seemed doomed to. Looking back held no answers, if anything, trying to find the answer to the question “ _ Where did it all go wrong?” _ had only confused things more.

He shifts around, laying next to Cornelius, though there’s no relief from the pain in his hands and his wrists and everywhere else. And the pain is constant now, along with an unshakable exhaustion that’s proven to be contradictory in nature, as it’s impossible for him to sleep. All he can hope for is a bit of rest, and even the rest he  happens upon merely teeters on the edge of what he needs. There’s a voice in his head that tells him he doesn’t even deserve what little he gets. He deserves less, because he’s the one that landed himself here, after all. Really, there’s plenty of voices in his head to tell him where it went wrong.

It went wrong when he signed up to go along on the trip. He would’ve found work elsewhere. There was a foolish optimistic edge to it, he was sure. Some image in his head of being able to tell people one day that he was there upon the discovery of the Northwest Passage, and there would be some respect gained in that. He would’ve found work anywhere, if he knew what would become of them all. What would become of him. Well, almost anywhere else.  If there was one thing he could hold on to while feeling like he had lost much of himself, it was his pride. Even if it could only be exercised in hypotheticals imagined as he shivered against the cold, which seeped into him and ached and burned like his body was made of the last glowering coals of a fire. He manages to move closer to Cornelius, and he’s reminded that even if the expedition hadn’t been doomed, he certainly was. 

“It’s all ruined, isn’t it?” 

Gibson had asked him that once. He couldn’t possibly suss out how long ago, but he knew it had been days after they had gone out on their own, apart from the rest of the expedition. All the excitement of the act of mutiny in itself had died down. They were together in one of those canvas tents, and it was late. Gibson had been up with the same illness that had been plaguing him for months. He wasn’t sure what kept the other man up. The longer he knew him the more he realized he had never had a grasp on what went on in his head, and he probably never would. 

Cornelius had been as kind as he could in his response. He had brushed Gibson’s hair back from his face and had kissed him. Not on the lips, they hadn’t kissed like that in ages. He doubted they would ever again. But there was still affection in it. Still enough care to soothe him, even if just for the few moments that it did.

“No, Billy. No it’s not. Things haven’t been going well, but we’ve a much better chance now. Things will sort out. You’ll see. You don’t have to worry.”

Such pretty words. He didn’t dare believe them, Cornelius was speaking with the voice that had earned them both so much trouble.  The voice that at first had Gibson completely enamored, and now left him feeling wary.  For all their niceties, what had Cornelius’ words really gained them? Not much, especially in regards to what they’d lost. Not that Gibson’s had ever been particularly helpful. Still stroking his hair, he told Gibson more assurances. Promises that he would get better, especially with the doctor there. Everything would be taken care of. 

Gibson’s hands, which he took time to regard now, were bony and pale, and while he had always acknowledged himself to be bony and pale, he wondered now with death knocking around in his chest every time he drew breath, if death was not showing outwards, as well. If it was, the men among him ignored it. It wasn’t likely to be out of the kindness of their hearts, more that none of them really cared. Least of all Goodsir, which troubled him more than anything. 

Despite pain, and the hopelessness of their situation, and the exhaustion, there was a part of him that wanted to live. It was an ongoing endeavor, trying to cast aside that part of him. Pessimism became him, he saw it married to practicality, but still there remained remnants of the past where things seemed to be going so well. Remnants of a time where he had been able to fall in love - even though now he felt foolish even thinking of the word.

But he did love Cornelius, still. That was the most confounding part of it all. Hadn’t he learned? His lover was changed, or so Gibson hoped, for he had been shown to be capable of terrible acts. What would be the point where Gibson would be able to cast  _ that _ part of himself aside? So bold in word he had been, and so strong in resolve that  _ he _ had been the one to end it, and still the man existed so firmly in his affections that the dreaded devotion overcame practicality, and came to rest among his pessimism in a subdued stubbornness that would not leave. 

So when he continues shifting around for a while longer, kept up with all that afflicted his body and his mind, and his lover turns to face him in the dark of the canvas tent, the only relief he can seek is the only relief that’s left for him anyway. It is temporary, as much as Cornelius tries to enfold him in his embrace, and there’s something in him that screams it will be his undoing. Despite all of this, for tonight he has his pride, and he has what is left of this love he’s shared, and he lives. 

**Author's Note:**

> "The mandragora, or mandrake, was used as a sedative and to induce pain relief for surgical procedures."
> 
> THANK YOU ABEL FOR MY LIFE (and this title)  
> The Emo Statement After It Is My Own but Abel helped with the first part so thank u


End file.
